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Tucking his phone into his pocket, he hurried into the store and quickly began to grab everything he needed for Ginger. He tapped his foot on the polished floor at the cat treat aisle, then snapped a photo and opened up his Instagram to upload it.
TheBakerByTheSea: What kind of treats do cats like best? In fact, if you all know something I can bake for my new baby, let me know.
He hit post, then slipped the phone into his pocket and instead headed for the kitten food, then loaded up on toys, litter, a fancy self-scooping box, and a little hooded bed that the cat probably wouldn’t use but looked cute anyway.
At the check-out, he tried not to cringe as the total continued to climb, and he reminded himself he was finally on the other side of broke now that his shop was picking up orders again. He didn’t need to stress too much. He could spoil his new pet a little bit.
“…you, don’t I?”
Peyton glanced up and realized the cashier was talking to him. He was a younger guy, probably not much older than twenty-one, skinny with ripped jeans and a flannel since all that nineties shit was making a comeback. He was very attractive, and Peyton definitely didn’t miss the look the guy was giving him.
“Sorry,” he offered, fighting the urge to tug the hair tie out of his hair to remake his bun. “I was in a world of my own.”
The guy—Chris, his name tag read—shook his head and grinned back. “Totally fine. But uh, you’re that guy from Instagram, right? The baker with the asshole neighbor?”
Peyton immediately flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ha. Yeahhh, that would be me.”
Chris leaned toward him and winked. “You know, I’d never turn you down if you left cookies on my porch.”
Peyton flushed harder and glanced off to the side. “That’s…”
“Whoa, sorry, that wasn’t a euphemism, I swear. I’m not trying to be a creep,” Chris said in a rush. “Just…you’re so hot, bro. You deserve better. And your bakes look amazing.”
Bro?Fucking kids these days.
Peyton managed to conjure up a smile as he swiped his card and tapped the button to add on a donation for the pet store charity. “Well, to be fair, I’m not trying to date the guy. I was just sending him a welcome to the neighborhood gift, which is totally my fault. Not everyone likes baked goods.”
Chris stared at him another moment, and Peyton hoped the look on his face meant he was getting it: Peyton’s flat tone meant he wasn’t interested. “Is this stuff for that stray kitten you adopted?”
Peyton knew he had no right to feel a little creeped out that the guy was just talking about his personal life, especially considering he was the one posting it to his social media account which had recently gone viral. But it was still a weird feeling.
“Yep. I’ve decided to name her Ginger.”
Chris’ mouth softened into a smile. “That’s sweet. I hope I can meet her someday. Maybe you can bring her in with you next time?”
Peyton just gave a noncommittal hum and gathered his things, setting them back into the basket so he could hurry out to his car. He swore he could feel Chris’ eyes on him as he loaded up his stuff, so he left the cart in the outdoor corral and then jumped behind the wheel.
His phone began to buzz again as he sat, but instead of opening his messages, he connected his phone to the car speaker and called his brother.
“Tell me there’s not a crisis. I’m almost at the post office right now.”
Peyton gripped the wheel tight, then turned left instead of right in hopes of finding a café not too far off. For as long as he’d lived in the neighborhood, he’d been either consumed with his shop which was ten miles to the north, or he’d been trapped in his home, recovering.
“Hello?” Linden pressed.
Peyton cleared his throat. “Yeah, yes. Sorry. Some guy at the pet store knew me.”
“What, like an ex?” Linden asked.
Peyton scoffed. “Yeah sure, all those exes I have hidden. No, I mean from Instagram. And I think he was hitting on me.”
“Was he hot?”
“He was a baby,” Peyton shot back. “He was like…twenty. Anyway, that’s not really my crisis.”
“Okay,” Linden said slowly. “Do I need to hold your hand through this?”
Letting out a frustrated growl, Peyton glanced up at a little strip mall with a café whose only sign was a hanging wooden cup of coffee on its side. It was cute—a little kitsch—but the mom-and-pop shops always had the best brews, so he pulled in and put his car in park.
